Great and Honorable Destiny
by Hedgi
Summary: Eobard Thawne had had nearly a decade and a half to examine the consequences of his actions. There would be ripples. It was a shame. He would be found out, eventually, but now there was this. AU where Cisco and Caitlin develop their powers shortly after Barry wakes from his coma. Powers that would prove catastrophic to Eobard Thawne's plans if they were allowed to remain.
1. Chapter 1

This AU comes from a conversation I had with a friend, and some prompts I got via tumblr. It is complete, in five parts, the next which will be posted soon. Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

A Great and Honorable Destiny

Eobard Thawne had had nearly a decade and a half to plan, to examine the various consequences of his actions, and what would come of them. Obviously, there would be ripples. He had to be certain that Barry Allen not only survived to become the Flash, but reached the required speeds, and survived actually being the Flash for long enough for Eobard to return home. It might doom this timeline, but as long as he wasn't in it, he didn't particularly care, and it might not end so catastrophically. Barry had woken from the coma, and with only slight nudging, accepted his powers and the urge to use them for good. The timeline was on track, the little team was coming together.

And then Caitlin Snow, face pale and brow wrinkled with concern, knocked on the office doorway after Barry and Cisco had gone off, presumably to their homes. Her hands shook, and he noticed, his sight sharp as ever behind the useless glasses, that they seemed stiff, shiny. Covered in frost flowers. _That was supposed to come later. She shouldn't have been affected that strongly…._ He had known, of course, that Caitlin Snow would one day be one of the Flash's many enemies, Killer Frost. It had been one more way to ensure that Barry's team fell apart eventually—though it wasn't meant to happen until later.

This was a dilemma. If she turned on Barry, he would not be able to fight her—not her powers or the woman herself. Eobard had hoped—Gideon had not had much information on Killer Frost, not after the timeline changed. He'd hoped, in a way, that he'd delayed, or prevented it, as much for his own sake as the Flash's. It was a shame. He would be found out, eventually, or reveal himself at the right time, but now there was this. Just as Barry's powers were weakened by cold, so were his own. No, Killer Frost could not be allowed to choose either side.

"Caitlin, come in," Eobard touched the rim of his glasses, putting warmth into his voice. It was almost genuine. "Is something the matter? Did your car…?"

"Dr. Wells, I.." she started, her voice shivering as much as the rest of her. "I think I—there's something wrong with me, I can't control it, I can't…"

"Calm down," Eobard used the Voice of Reason he'd perfected, dealing with the children he'd had to guide towards the final product of the Particle Accelerator. "Perhaps some tea? And then you can tell me what exactly is wrong?"

Caitlin didn't notice that Eobard himself didn't touch the pitcher of milk he set out as she prepared two mugs of tea, though she cursed at herself when the water, once boiling, turned tepid as her fingers brushed the cup. She drained it anyway. Eobard smiled to himself as she explained the chill she'd been feeling, the way she could never get warm, the way the cool water she'd used to wash her hands had frozen.

"I was affected, too, wasn't I? By the explosion?" She turned her face to him, amber eyes bright with worry in her too pale face. Eobard shrugged, careful to keep the comforting look on his face smooth.

"It seems so. But don't, ah, fret, Doctor Snow. I'm sure that there is something that can be done. To help you."

"You saw what that gun did to Barry," Caitlin said, fear palpable. "I'm like that gun, now…" Her voice was starting to droop. Eobard reached forward, then noticeably hesitated. She flinched, and privately, Eobard smiled.

"Perhaps it would be for the best if you left for a time, Caitlin. Until you get this under control. We've seen the kind of accidents Barry has had, here. It would be a shame if someone got hurt because your own abilities …expressed themselves."

"Yes," Caitlin reached for her empty teacup, frowning, but shook her head. "Maybe…I can't just leave, but…"

"I may be in this chair, but I do have some connections. I know of someone—a doctor like yourself, actually. He may be able to help us come up with some ideas, to protect you, and the rest of us from you. Why don't you pay him a visit?"

Caitlin touched a hand to her forehead, then tried to stop a yawn. "I…"

"Let me call you a cab. You don't appear to be in any condition to drive." Two phone calls later, Eobard helped Caitlin into the back seat of a taxi, taking her keys for "safe keeping" and paid the driver in advance plus tip to ensure Caitlin Snow reached Dr. Hadley's office in Inglewood.  
"You won't need to wait around." Eobard told him, smiling at the dazed Caitlin. "Drive safe."

* * *

The next day, Barry was overly busy with police work, something Eobard was grateful for and had in no way manipulated in his favor. Of course not. Still, there would be questions eventually, he knew that. The car had been easy enough to be rid of, a small suitcase packed, a resignation letter typed neatly left on a desk. But there would still be questions, particularly from…

"Cisco?" Eobard allowed himself the smallest of frowns. "If you're here to work on the suit, It's—"

"No, no, uh, that's not…That's not it." He, too, seemed shaky, almost twitchy. Eobard sighed.

"Come in, then," Eobard honestly couldn't tell what it was. Perhaps there had been another incident with his family—it was October, not yet time for a Thanksgiving disaster, nor a repeat of the last Christmas. Perhaps it was another round of guilt over the Cold gun. Eobard was beginning to tire of Cisco's guilt complex, though it did have its uses. "What brings you here, instead of—what was it you were planning? A Firefly Marathon?"

Cisco swallowed, tucking hair behind his ear in a nervous habit and almost…wincing at the movement. "I think there's something…going on."

Eobard stiffened. "With? Barry? Or has Snart returned?"

"Nothing like that, nothing…major." Cisco attempted a smile, but his voice seemed duller. No, simply softer. Dimly, a bell of recognition went off in Eobard's head, though he tried to shake that particular thought away. That was far too much of a coincidence, and as far as Eobard was concerned, there was no such thing.

"It seems pretty "major" if you are here on your day off, Cisco. Please, sit. What's troubling you? I may not be able to help, but…"

"The night the Accelerator exploded. I was right outside of it, with Caitlin. But the—the explosion went up, not out. So…There's no way that someone inside the building could have been affected. Right?" Cisco's eyes flickered up from his hands, so dark and afraid that Eobard was reminded of a hunted animal's.

"Anything is possible," Eobard said, his tone as non-committal as possible. "Though I doubt it. Why? What makes you so curious all of a sudden?"

"Me. I…I thought I was just…jittery. Too much coffee, or soda, but…I broke every glass in my apartment last night, and I mean that's only, like, three, but…"

Eobard's internal alarm bells sounded louder now, and he made effort to keep his breathing slow. "You did something? What?"

"Sonic… sonic blasts. And then, the other day, I—I wanted the TV quieter, I was reaching for the remote, but then it just. Went quieter. On its own. I don't know how, or why, or what's going on, but—All the metas we've seen so far have been—I mean aside from Barry, it's been people who have hurt people, and I don't want…" He seemed near tears.

Eobard closed his eyes, hoping for a look like pity, but internally groaning. It wasn't that much of a wonder he hadn't pieced it together, he had never actually fought Vibe. The kid had died before his jump. Eobard had been glad of that much—by all accounts, Vibe had, on occasion, been able to do the impossible. He'd been able to disrupt the very Speed Force that governed, as far as he could tell from years of study, every speedster's power. That was the older, more hardened, more experienced Vibe… but still the same Cisco Ramon. Loyal, good hearted, striving to see the best in people. If having Caitlin Snow stand against him had been unthinkable, unacceptable, this would be far worse.

And Eobard knew, when truth came to light, what would happen. Cisco may be loyal to Harrison Wells, but that loyalty would not extend to a time traveling murderer, no matter the justification. It wasn't in the boy's nature. He maneuvered the chair closer. Put a hand on the engineer's back. "Why don't you write down everything that's been strange, everything that might be some kind of…power. Trust me, Cisco, you are nothing like Mardon or Nimbus. Believe that, if nothing else. I'll be right back."

Cisco nodded, still shaking. "Thank you. Can we…not tell Barry, yet? I think…He's still kinda edgy, after…what I did."

"Of course, Mr. Ramon. Your secret is safe with me."

As Cisco started on the list, laying everything out neat and orderly, as if that would make it all make sense, Eobard left the room to make another phone call. Losing both Ramon and Snow would be a blow. He would need another pawn. Killing two birds, or rather three, with the same stone, seemed the best choice. Perhaps it was more checkers than chess. He dialed the number, a little heavy hearted, but knowing that it was better than the alternatives. He'd prefer not to get his own hands dirty, not now, not when there was an easier alternative. Pragmatism.

Cisco's list was finished, covering three sides of paper's worth of incidents and concerns. Eobard scanned it. Waking dreams that seemed real. Ringing in his ears. Sensitivity to sound. Manipulating sound. The same list repeated itself in a half month's worth of anecdotes.

"I do wish you'd come to me sooner," Eobard pulled every bit of fatherly comfort he had observed and stored away for reference from his core, every bit of Harrison that was still inside of him, who loved this child like his own son. Harrison Wells, ever the bleeding heart. Eobard usually couldn't stand the emotions those memories forced him to share, but they had uses. He pushed a cup of water into Cisco's hand. "Let's see what we can figure out. Shall we?"

Cisco drank a little, smiling thankfully before launching into an explanation that gradually slowed, punctuated with moments of confusion. Eobard watched, an eye on the clock, as Cisco paused, flexed his fingers, and continued. Line by line, he went through the List, his voice becoming more slurred until his hand brushed the wheelchair, and his entire body went rigid for a heartbeat. Two. Three. And then-

"You …drugged me?"

 _Damn._

Cisco fumbled for his pocket, no doubt reaching for his phone, no doubt about to call Barry. Eobard plucked the phone from his fingers, tossing it across the room.

"You always have been incredibly clever, Cisco. I've always said it."

There were footsteps in the hallway, heavy with the clank of metal. Steel toed boots. Eobard shook his head as Cisco noticed, trying to get his body to cooperate without luck.

"For what it's worth, I have enjoyed working with you," Eobard held the still half full glass to Cisco's lips. Cisco turned his head as much as he could, the drug dimming the fire in his gaze. Gone was the lost puppy confusion, only hurt and anger. "You should finish this. It's for the best, I'm afraid."

"No need for that, Wells." General Eiling's voice boomed. Cisco flinched, sudden adrenaline granting him some control, enough to lurch from his chair. It wasn't enough to prevent Eiling from grabbing him by the shirt collar, jabbing a dart into his neck. His struggling and the half-way coherent cry for help cut off.

"Remember," Eobard said firmly. "You get any of the metahumans I find for you, all of the data we have, and in return, I am in charge when it comes to the Flash. He is to be left to my studies, not yours."

"Of course. You really have changed, doc." Eiling smirked over his shoulder as he left.

* * *

"What do you mean, they're gone?" Barry demanded. Eobard spread his hands.

"The night you defeated Snart. Caitlin was shaken, quite badly, Mr. Allen. I think that she must have decided this was too much... She has been opening up, and I had hoped...but she's fragile, right now. The loss of Ronnie...Perhaps she will return, but she asked in her letter to be left on her own for a time. I believe she mentioned visiting—here." He pointed to the forged note. "Canada. Ronnie's family."

"But why would she leave without saying goodbye? And Cisco?"

"Caitlin Snow has never had much…luck with farewells, Barry. And as for Cisco…" Eobard removed his glasses and sighed. "Barry, There wasn't only a Cold gun."

"What?" Barry went dead still, even his near constant fidgeting stopping.

"I found blueprints, even a prototype, in STAR Labs storage for some kind of flame thrower, among other things. I hate to jump to conclusions, but the fact that Cisco is gone, without a note, and there were so many projects that I never approved…It seems I didn't know him as well as I thought I did."

"Cisco wouldn't…" Barry said, slowly, but Eobard saw the flicker of doubt there. In a way, perhaps it was good that the powers had manifested now, not six months down the road, too late to hide, too soon for Eobard to get home.

"If they want to return, they will, Barry. But I urge caution. You remember what Miss Smoak said, about Trust. Give them time, and perhaps Caitlin will come back to us. And perhaps Mr. Ramon will come to his senses, and earn that trust again. But it's not something that can be...rushed. Perhaps this is for the best."

Eobard felt the lightning in his eyes as Barry nodded slowly.

* * *

comments make the world go round. see you soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Part two. Prompt for this chapter was " Cisco and anyone, 'I know you can hear me.'

* * *

"I want my phone call," Cisco managed as soon as he was awake and aware enough of the man in a fancy uniform standing over him to speak. Sitting in a hard chair with his hands cuffed behind him and his legs hobbled, he knew that this wasn't like the times he had to pull out his birth certificate to some ICE official who wanted to make a point, but still. _Stall. Stall long enough for help to come._ But what if help didn't come? Wells, Dr. Wells, had done this. Betrayed him, he'd seen it, the moment his hand brushed the wheelchair, an image of one of the bottles in the med-bay being dripped into a water glass, one end of a phone call to a General promising him something interesting.

Something. He was a "some _thing_." Cisco wanted to throw up, and not just from the nausea and headache from the drug. If Wells had done this, what did that mean for a rescue? No. Barry would come. Barry was a hero, even if Cisco hadn't really earned that trust back. Barry would find him, or Caitlin, or Felicity, maybe, if she knew.

The General held a file folder, and he smirked. "I don't think so, Mr. Ramon. And before you start whining about rights, let me stop that right here. Three days ago, a passenger train was derailed, and I have it on good authority that you built the device that caused it. That derailment's been classified, by the way, as a domestic terrorist attack. Meaning that under the National Defense Authorization Act of 2014, I can keep you here for as long as I damn well please, so I'd get comfy." The man's smile grew wider, sharper, and if possible, his eyes grew colder.

Cisco clamped his mouth shut, breathing hard through his nose, trying to keep the cold terror dripping down his back from shutting him down completely. _Stall. Stall and hold on. God, please—help._

The General slapped the file against his other hand, a sound that rang out like a shot, and Cisco flinched, jarring his wrists against the restraints. "But let's not waste time with that, shall we? You know why you're here."

Cisco had a pretty good guess, and wished he'd read fewer sci-fi novels. He shook his head, and was backhanded for it. "I'm not telling you anything." His voice was low, shaky, but determined.

"I don't need you to." The General plucked a sheet from the file, and Cisco recognized his own handwriting. The list. The list Wells had asked him to make. "But it would make this so much easier on everyone."

Behind him, a door opened, and Cisco twisted to see—soldiers, men and women in uniform, holding very large looking guns, and two figures in buttoned up lab coats, wheeling a gurney. Cisco swallowed against the sandpaper that was his throat. _Oh, God, please get me out of this. Please, let Barry come, let Caitlin come, let someone come, please._

No one came. The General passed off the file to the lab coats.

* * *

 _Oh, God, help._ Cisco tried. He tried to keep hoping, but as it turned into days—weeks?—he didn't _know_ how long, the dark cells and brightly lit lab rooms playing merry hell with his already shitty internal clock—hoping grew harder. It had been October, early October, did that make it—how long? Had it been two weeks? Three? Was it November, now? Was anyone out there looking?  
Had his family even noticed? Or worse, what if they had noticed, and given up on him? They wouldn't, not that quickly. Still, in dreams that weren't quite dreams, he could have sworn he saw his mother's hands lighting a candle, putting it on the Dia de los Muertos alter. His mother, who refused to celebrate it the way the other Latino families in the area did, because for her, for his Colombian roots, it was less celebration and more somber. Did she think he was dead?

He almost wished he was dead. Dead would have been better than the MRI machines that blasted him with noise as they scanned, and scientists who spoke over his head like he wasn't even there, and the way even in the quiet of a soundproofed cell he couldn't escape the thunder of his own heart. It hurt. _He_ hurt.  
Once he had heard Caitlin's voice, but it had only been for a moment, and the words had been muffled. She'd been screaming to be let go. Ever since then he'd listened, but they'd moved him to another room, with thicker walls, and he hadn't heard her again. They paid him back for the black eye he'd given the guard, trying to get to her, too, and his sight had been blurry for what he thought must have been days.

He knew no one was coming for him, now. He'd thought Barry would have at least come to save Caitlin. But Wells must have done something. Must have stopped him. Cisco almost hoped it was that, because the alternative was almost—almost—worse: that Barry just didn't care. He'd only known him for a month, but they'd been friends, up until Snart had stolen the cold gun, the weapon he'd made as much to stop Barry's man in Yellow as much as a renegade Barry. But Cisco couldn't wish for Barry to have been hurt, or caged like him, even if it meant that Barry wasn't coming because he just wasn't looking. Then again, maybe Barry had come, maybe he had gotten Caitlin out, maybe… He closed his eyes, too tired to cry.  
Cisco took a moment to be grateful, because that's what you were supposed to do when everything hurt and you wanted to be dead, right, that was what Job and Jesus and all them did, right? He was grateful that they'd only cuffed his leg, so he could wrap his arms around his knees, and that they'd fed him recently, and that at least they weren't cutting him open. _Yet,_ supplied his brain. There wasn't much to do between the tests and interrogations but worry.

He pulled himself into a tighter ball, ignoring the stinging pain in his left ear when it brushed against his shoulder. Trying to focus on the good things had always been his coping mechanism, but now it was less "good things" and more "the least bad of the bad things." He rocked, on the bare floor, shivering in the thin sweats and t-shirt they'd given him, feeling so small and so alone. It was past being afraid, past being desperate. It wasn't even hope any more, just breathing because there wasn't anything else he could do.

"I know You can hear me," he knew it was a whisper, but it felt like rockets. "Please, God. _A Dios Por favore._ Let Caitlin be ok. Let Wells not have hurt Barry. Don't let everyone forget about me. Even if no one comes. But if it's not too much…please, just…let someone come. Anyone."

* * *

comments make the world go 'round.


	3. Chapter 3

Barry pressed his hands to the door of the cell and vibrated, shattering the lock under the pressure. He had to move fast, find Stein and get out before the guards returned. The door opened at his shove, and light spilled into the dim room. As soon as Barry saw the occupant, tucked into one corner, chained by the ankles at the wall, Barry felt his hands go numb, and fought the urge to vomit.  
"Hey, I'm gonna get you out of here," he spoke low, not bothering to vibrate his voice, stepping into the room. The captive's head raised weakly, dark eyes hollow, and Barry gasped, feeling as though he'd been shot.  
"Cisco? Cisco Ramon? Oh—Oh my god." Suddenly Barry thought he knew why Dr. Wells had been so adamant that he leave Ronnie and Professor Stein to their fate, that there was nothing to be done for them.

He looked nothing like the Cisco he remembered from—what, four months back?—with cropped hair and skin that seemed far too pale. Barry moved closer and Cisco— _Oh god has he been here all this time? Bette called herself one of Eiling's labrats,_ one _of, oh god—_ flinched.

"Not real, not real, not real," he whispered, whimpered more like, his voice reedy.

"Cisco, no, it's me, I'm here, I'm sorry," Barry gripped the chain near where it was stapled to the wall. Maybe he didn't have super strength, but vibrations worked just as well to get it loose. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I—"

"Barry," Ronnie called from outside. "I think I found Martin, let's—" he came into view and froze. "You said Cisco and Cait left STAR. You—"

"I didn't know!" Barry cried, and Cisco flinched, clapping hands over his ears. Barry closed his eyes and cursed himself. He should have looked, he shouldn't have taken Dr. Well's word for it, shouldn't have believed blindly. Cisco's wrists were scarred, and Barry had spent enough time visiting the prison and working in the police station to recognize the marks of cuffs closed too tight and left too long.

"Ronnie? You died…" Cisco whispered, but his eyes seemed clearer. Barry reached out gingerly and helped him to his feet, an arm under his shoulders to support him.

"Cisco, is Caitlin here?" Ronnie asked, noting the volume and pitching his voice lower, gentler.

"You came?" Cisco asked. "You came before but it was never…" then he blinked. "I don't know where, but—he has her. I saw it. She's cold."

Ronnie extended a hand. "Barry, please, she's—"

"I know. Let me get you both out, I'll come back, I swear. I can't carry three." Barry's eyes were wide, and he was sweating. How much time before the EMP blast wore off, before someone found the knocked out guards? Stein and Caitlin—oh, god, Caitlin, Cisco, it had been four months. _You came before—_ had Cisco hallucinated a rescue? Or just dreamed one, while he thought the engineer was living off the grid, building tech for people like Mick Rory and Hartley Rathaway? How had he ever believed it?

"No, I'm not leaving her," Ronnie insisted. "When we find Stein, we can merge again, and fly out. There's no time."

Barry nodded, heart racing. With Ronnie supporting Cisco, his skin ashen in the hallway lighting, Barry took off, breaking down every door in the hallway. Stein was in a cell much like Ronnie's had been, shackled to a chair, his shirt burned through in places—some kind of cattle prod, if Barry had to guess. In seconds he had helped the older man free, racing him out of the cell and moving on to the next door.

At the far end of the hall, he found Caitlin. The door was covered in ice.

"We need Firestorm," he hissed. Ronnie didn't dare leave Cisco behind, though he was still hobbled at the ankles. It didn't take much effort to carry him, or to reach the end of the hallway.

"Professor, we have to—"

"I know, Ronald." Stein reached forward, and Barry watched as they merged, fire streaming around them. At the light display, Cisco seemed to grow more coherent, as if something had clicked into place.

"It was real? I saw you. Under a bridge."

"No time for that," Stein said in Ronnie's voice, but gently. "But later, I'd like to understand that."

The room was like a freezer, and as soon as Barry stepped inside he felt his speed bleeding off, trying to keep him warm. Caitlin huddled in the farthest corner, her hair pale, as if muted by moonlight. At the sound of the door crashing open, she flinched.

"Don't come any closer," she rasped, wild eyed, and then, "Oh god, I'm dead, they killed me, oh, god, no, you're dead."

"Caitlin, it's—me. Ronnie. We're getting you out of here." Firestorm reached out, and there was a hiss like steam.

"Warm," she whispered, and Firestorm, hands glowing, shattered the ice covered chains and lifted her. She sighed, a broken sob escaping, hiding her face against his arm like a bird with a broken wing.

"Take Cisco," Firestorm told Barry. "We get out, _now."_

They made it to the ground floor before Eiling stopped them, one of the spike grenades in his hand. Barry knew he could take out the snipers if he left Cisco, but the moment he moved, Eiling'd use the grenade, and then what would happen? He'd failed them all before, his teammates, his—how could he call them friends when he'd left them to this?

"Stand down, all of you." Eiling shook his head at them, as if they were naughty children trying to play hooky.

"Nah." It had to have been Ronnie speaking as Firestorm shifted a hand from around Caitlin's shoulders and hurled a fireball that was roughly the size of a Buick at the general, then another at the wall. "C'mon, Move!"

Barry ran, Cisco clinging to him like a wet kitten to a warm brick, Firestorm flying after them through the gap. They didn't stop for ages, and when at last they did, they were miles from anything and anyone. In the near total darkness, Barry sank to his knees, sobbing, dry-heaving.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I—"

"Didn't know?" Cisco asked, clearing his throat. "But—you came. You came."

"Not soon enough."


	4. Chapter 4

"What do we do now?" Martin Stein asked, Caitlin and Ronnie gripping each other tightly as if nothing else in the world mattered. Barry took a moment to be glad that Ronnie apparently still had the fever-heat, because Caitlin still felt like ice.

"I don't know," Barry admitted, looking around shakily. It was so very dark.. "I don't think we can go back. Dr. Wells—"

"He's the yellow man." Cisco whispered, sitting again. His legs were not strong enough to support him, and he leaned against a stone. "I know what I saw. He told General about me. And Cait."

"I'm going to kill him," Ronnie said cheerfully, pressing another kiss to Caitlin's temple.

Caitlin grimaced, but leaned into the touch, sure now of the warmth, the way it didn't hurt. here eyes were softer now, after too long hard as glaciers. "I'll help." The ice in her voice melted, some. "I thought you were dead. And I thought—If he'd sold me out, I worried you were dead, too, all of you. Everyone."

Barry felt his heart shatter. "I'm so sorry, I never should have—he said you left, and I—wait. The yellow man—the man in yellow, you mean? He's the man who killed my mother. He's–"  
"I see things. Saw things," Cisco's voice was still so thin and weak. "Saw him, and…Ronnie. Fighting."

"At Chanukah," Martin said, nodding. "We fought him then. In a manner of speaking."  
Cisco blinked, folding his fingers around bare feet. There was no snow, but it was still mid-February, and cold out. Barry's mind raced.

"We can't go back. I know a place where we might be safe, though, or–where you will be. Ronnie, Professor, think you can keep up?"

"There aren't any other options but to, Mr. Allen," Martin extended a hand to Ronnie. "Once more into the breach?"

* * *

"Barry, what are you doing here, who are all these people, are you–oh, my God." Felicity cut herself off. "You're Martin Stein, the missing professor, and–Cisco? Caitlin?"

"Felicity, I can explain," Barry said weakly.

"No, that can wait, they're half dead, thank God we have a microwave and I keep canned stuff here for when SOMEONE forgets to eat, Barry, find some pillows or something. Do we have extra cots? I don't know, I think we might, crap, I don't–"  
Cisco shrank as her voice grew louder, and she stopped when she saw him clamping hands over his ears.

"Sorry," she said, in almost a whisper, still looking around frantically as Barry put together some makeshift cots with tables, chairs, and blankets that looked like they'd been in storage for years. Caitlin was far more at ease sitting on the edge, drinking corn chowder out of a mug because they didn't have enough bowls to go around. Cisco refused the offered bed wordlessly, and no one pressed. Felicity fussed over all of them, and then over Oliver when he returned from patrol, cutting off his questions with hurried explanation. Barry slipped over, leaving Martin and Ronnie with Cisco and Caitlin.

"They can't go back to STAR, or to Central City." Felicity said, her voice firm. "If Wells finds out, Oliver, he gave them to…"

"General Eiling. It's on the news. An old military base, supposed to be abandoned, burning to the ground. No survivors." He raised an eyebrow at Barry, who didn't flinch.

"They were torturing people. Eiling deserved to get barbequed, after Bette, and…" he lowered his voice. "I couldn't leave them. What happened to them, it's all my fault. Four months, they thought no one cared, no one was coming, for months. Look at them, Oliver."

Oliver had looked. He'd never met Caitlin Snow or Cisco Ramon, though Felicity had spoken highly of them. What he could see of them, that wasn't covered in blankets, was a grim sight. They were jittery, pale, their hair shorn and wrists ringed with scars from restraints. With a shudder, he recognized other scars, marks where wounds–incisions– had healed with the help of methodical stitches. In the woman's fingers, across the bit of arm that wasn't wrapped in cloth. Underneath the stubble of Cisco's hair. Stein's clothing bore evidence of a cattle prod or similar. And there was the Lost look about them, when hope had been worn away and the promise of it now was something they didn't know what to do with. He knew that look. He'd worn it himself.

"What's our move, then?" he asked, addressing all of them.

"I have to go back. I'll tell him, I wasn't in time to save Stein and Ronnie, that I went to you for advice on dealing with it. If he knows we Suspect something–Iris, Joe, My dad." Barry rubbed the back of his neck. "There has to be a way to beat him, but not tonight. Not if he's the man in Yellow."

"The Reverse Flash," Cisco said, stronger now, but still keeping his head ducked, his arms pulled in tight. "There is. I saw…something. Maybe not. Another…world. I don't know. The visions are all jumbly. But…" he glanced up, and Barry moved closer, slowly. Cisco didn't flinch as much this time. "We need all of us."

"Then we'll do it together," Ronnie promised.  
"Together," came the halting, stuttered echo, one by one.  
Outside, dawn turned the sky the faintest shade of pink as the sun burst over the hills.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 5

"How are they doing?" Barry asked Ronnie, breathless from his run. It was hard, finding the time to sneak out to Starling, with Dr. Wells so suspicious lately, though he'd bought the story Barry had spun. It had helped that the confusion and grief at having failed a friend was real, though it wasn't the failure Dr. Wells assumed. Even three weeks later, Barry couldn't close his eyes without seeing the melting frostflowers on Caitlin's skin, the way she'd savored Felicity's soup, or the haunted look in Cisco's eyes, the way footsteps had made him flinch. They had been his team, and what had he done, believed lies?  
There had been nothing left of the Facility for him to salvage for Felicity or her new friend, Ray, to dig into, to discover what had happened in the four and a half months Eiling and his Morally/Ethically bankrupt brutesquad had held Cisco and Caitlin, but from their condition, from what Bette had said before she'd been murdered, Barry knew it was the stuff of nightmares, the worst of nightmares.

"Better," Ronnie had said, a grim smile in place. "Better. Cait's doing ok, now that the professor and I—we can keep her warm, and that helps. Can't sleep through the night, but—none of us can, really."

"And Cisco?" Barry chewed his lip.

"He's…" Ronnie shrugged. "Better than I would be. Some of the things he's seen. He has visions, Allen. A scrap of cloth, someone's hand, and he sees things. But he's—he's always been a tough kid. Had to be, I think."

Barry nodded. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I should have—have known, have done something."

"I should have, too." Ronnie closed his eyes against the memory of the flame. " Sometimes I wonder if we all would have been better off it I hadn't redirected the blast. It would have killed everyone in the building, but—there are things worse than death. And so many more have been hurt because of Metahumans."

"Like me." Barry winced. "Ronnie, you did what you thought was the right thing."

"I did. And I lost 15 months of my life, and the woman I love paid the price for it." Ronnie shook his head. "Is it safe for you to be here? Like this? If He finds out—your family—"

"Joe and Eddie are on loan to Starling City for a case. Iris came for the ride. I figure…now's as good a time as any. Maybe the best chance we have. Harrison Wells killed my mother, he did all of this. To you, to me, to Cisco and Caitlin. This may be our only shot at taking him out."

Ronnie nodded, solemn. "Then I'm guessing we don't have much time to waste."

* * *

Cisco didn't flinch or startle when Barry approached, but his back was to a wall, a somewhat sheltered corner of the Arrow Cave, with a view of the door, and the rest of the hideout. No surprises.

"How are you?" Barry asked, remembering to keep his voice quiet. The last time he'd snuck a visit, Cisco had divulged that part of his powers were sonic based, that every sound was amplified. Barry didn't want to think about how Eiling had tested that, or the thin scars visible through Cisco's too-short hair behind and around his ears.

"Better. Sleeping better, I guess, and…yeah." Cisco leaned against the wall, using it to steady himself as he stood. "Thank you, man."  
Caitlin and Ronnie-Stein-Firestorm with glowy white eyes that Barry was literally never going to get used to joined them, careful not to crowd, But Cisco shook his head. "I'm not…glass. Your heartbeats are—good sounds. I can't explain it so much, but…it helps?" He shrugged, nodded at Barry. "Yours is like—a hummingbird, just a buzz. And yours—" to Firestorm "is like—doubled, but there's just one heart. I can still hear two, but there's only one. Like, an echo."

It was Ronnie's voice, but Stein's laugh, a little grating. "I think we'll take your word for that, Mr Ra—Cisco. Extraordinary."

"And Cait's is—like in the movies. All dramatic and slow. But I guess that's not a good thing?"

Caitlin tucked herself closer against Firestorm's side, his arm wrapping around her instinctively. "It's not. But—I remember from Their tests, and what Felicity and Laurel helped me with. It's my new normal." The tiny smile faded. "Normal. What a joke."

Barry reached out, ignoring the sting of cold in his fingertips and palm for a moment before drawing bavk.

"I'm so sorry this happened, but—we're going to take him down. The general's dead, but the man in Yellow—we have to stop him. I'm not sure how much time we have before he figures out I'm lying."

Oliver watched from the entryway, but didn't insert himself into the conversation—he'd learned the second night that scaring Cisco was a great way to end up flat on your ass with your ears ringing. Laurel had taken notes for her sonic device tactics, but the poor kid had started panicking and begging them not to hurt him. It had taken three mugs of hot chocolate and a collection of piano and guitar lullabies played from the computer to get him to relax.

"You fought him." Cisco said. "I saw it."

"At Christmas," Barry agreed. "But I got my butt handed to me, he wasn't trying to kill me, just—prove that he was faster, better, stronger."

"No," Cisco shook his head. "You fought him. Before, but—but not before. In another—another place. Another time, the future, or—something. I thought…I thought it wasn't real, it doesn't feel real. But—you can trust it. You can trust me. The things I see, I know they're real, somehow, somewhere, somewhen. The me that was there didn't have…" he reached up and touched his hair, tugged his earlobe. "And Cait wasn't cold. We weren't—affected. Or weren't affected yet. I don't know. But it took all of us. You and Martin, and Ronnie, and—them." Cisco pointed but lowered his hand quickly, palms flat and shaking. Oliver and his team shrugged.

"Whatever you need. You've all helped us, and—if we can do something…" Oliver glanced at his suit and weapons. "You have my bow."

"And my ax." Felicity chimed in. "Not that I have an ax. But I could buy one. I'd probably suck until I had some training, Dig, can you teach me to use a battle ax?"  
"Not in the next three days or less," he said rolling his eyes.  
"Oh. Drat. Well, you have my computer…hacking…stuff."

"We'll need a trap. Something that can hold him. Cisco?" Barry asked, suddenly worried—there was some kind of etiquette no-no about asking a friend who'd been caged to build a cage, right?

Before Cisco could nod, Caitlin interrupted. "We don't if we just…kill him."

Barry closed his eyes. If they didn't get a confession, his father would be in prison forever. Then again, would anyone buy the confession of Harrison Wells? A time traveling murderer, one they couldn't exactly put on trial? And his family wasn't the only one that had suffered. How many more had died, would die?

"That can be plan B." he said at long last. The icy gleam in Caitlin's eye was not reassuring, but he found he couldn't blame her. No one else seemed eager to protest.

* * *

Of course, it went wrong. Nothing ever went right. They'd set up some kind of trap in one of the warehouses down the waterfront at Central City, but the Man in Yellow had been a step ahead, always a step—a yard, a mile, a _marathon_ —ahead. Barry had insisted Caitlin and Cisco hide, they were still recovering, still shaky and weak—he hadn't wanted them in the same city but they'd insisted—and now his only thought was to keep them safe, this time. Nothing else mattered but keep Dr. Wells distracted, occupied, long enough for—for what, he didn't know. It was hardly a matter of containing, it was question of surviving the night. Lightning crackled and swirled around him, around the cavernous space as Barry struggled. If only he could force Wells into the force field, even if he got trapped there, too, that would be alright. Maybe he'd die, but—but he could deal with that if it happened.

But Wells was fast, too fast, even running angry, and Barry knew he couldn't keep this up. His legs felt studded with nails, and dragging in air felt like breathing in fire. Sooner or later, he'd trip. Maybe the other him that Cisco had seen had won, temporarily at any rate, but so much had shifted. The other Barry had kept his friends safe, the other Barry had been stronger, better. But all there was was the same not-hope that Cisco and Caitlin had clung too—surviving, somehow, because that was the only option. So Barry ran, dodging, punching and kicking, possessed by the speed.

Firestorm and Oliver joined in the fight, but it was hard to get clear shots, clean shots, as Barry and Wells raced and ran, a tangled ball of jagged lightning. The lucky strikes they did manage only seemed to piss Wells off further. He sent Firestorm flying through a skylight, and Oliver raced out after him, hoping Barry could hold his own for a few moments.

Cisco and Caitlin had hidden, their compromise to Barry's "maybe you shouldn't be here," and it was only the steadying affect that Cisco seemed to have on everyone that kept Caitlin from screaming when Ronnie crashed up and out through the skylight—or maybe she had screamed, and he'd just pulled in the sound. Either way, Caitlin knew she couldn't hide, not any longer, not if Ronnie was going to die, Ronnie, and Barry, and everyone. Speed and cold are opposites, Cisco had said once, a lifetime ago.

"Cisco," she hissed, as they both stared at the pulse of red and gold lightning. "Cisco, we have to do something. Can you do your…thing? If we could get one hit…if I could…"

Cisco nodded, swallowing hard. "It might hurt Barry…"

"We're all going to die if we don't." Caitlin hissed back. She'd have been at peace with that, welcomed that, weeks ago, chained like an animal, freezing herself from the inside out and so alone. She'd thought Ronnie dead, and probably Cisco, and Barry, and everyone else. But they were alive, now, and she refused to stop fighting again. Not now that there really was hope.

That was when the lightning stopped. Wells had Barry by the throat, pinned against the far wall, mask down and face bloody. Caitlin couldn't hear the threat he made, blurred by the hum of his vibrating hand and her own too slow heartbeat in her ears. But Cisco heard every word.  
"Plan B," he breathed, the word pulsing as if only Caitlin had been allowed to hear it. Caitlin and Barry, who gave the tiniest of twitches.  
Wells was focused on his prize, on the surety that no one could actually stop him. Caitlin raised her palms, the frostflowers already forming, and this time instead of drawing in heat and pulling it close to melt the ice from her bones, she pushed. Beside her she saw Ciso do the same, the sound waves almost visible, a ripple through water. The sound struck first, knocking Wells off balance, enough for Barry to get free.  
Caitlin put every frozen tear, every shiver, every moment of despair from the last five months into that blast, feeling the frostflowers dig in to her hands with icy spurs that drew blood, but she didn't care.  
The man she had looked up to, who had comforted her as she comforted him in the wake of the Accelerator, the man she had trusted with her life, who had sold her out, handed her over to a nightmare like an old sweater, hit the ground with the second of Cisco's blasts, the sound pulled from his own heartbeat, from Barry's, from Caitlin's, three chords woven together.

And as he hit, face caught in a snarl, hand still outstretched as if to gather lightning and plunge it through flesh and bone and heart, he shattered.  
Caitlin slumped to the floor, Cisco following and Barry crashing to a stumbled halt beside them seconds later. It was over, overoverover, o-ver o-ver o-ver, their heartbeats seemed to say, and for the first time in months, they breathed freely. Firestorm and Arrow burst in again, confused and terrified by the sudden end to the fight, but relaxed enough, Ronnie pulling free and going to Caitlin, an arm around her. They sat for a long moment, letting the reality of what had happened settle over them, not a funeral shroud but a blanket of comfort.

Everything was still, and quiet, and warm.

* * *

The end! Hope you enjoyed it. :D Please do leave a comment if you feel so inclined. Have a good new year!


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